Mango chutney

Amma had brought raw mangoes from the local farmer’s market, that very moment Radha knew her favourite chutney would be prepared. Amma would first peel the green skin and then grate them, add various dals – a combination that was passed on by Radha’s grandmother to her. She always believed it was the proportion of dals and coconut in mango chutney that made it so delicious. Radha just loved it and would often secretly sneak into the kitchen to dip her little fingers into the chutney and have more than her share while Rukmani the elder one had developed an indifference to this seemingly inane behaviour of her sister.moong dal mango chutney Today amma had packed the duo, spicy chutney with rice for lunch. There were three classes that separated Radha from her favourite food. Between recitations and multiplication tables, her mind was set on how she would open the tiffin and dig her fingers into the tangy chutney and mix it with the white rice which might not be as hot as when amma packed them. Seated next to Radha was Sowmya- the saheb’s daughter. Saheb was recently posted as the new block development officer in the sleepy town of Neelamangla. When he moved to this new block his concern was if the daughter would get good schooling in this small town. Under duress of limted choices he decided to admit her to the government school where the principal promised him special care and focus. Today the saheb’s daughter had a twinkle in her eye, she was visibly happy. She had to share this happiness with someone, she silently signalled Radha. Now both of them were gazing at the steel dabba that Sowmya held in her hands. With restricted eagerness she slightly opened the lid- good enough to steal a glance but not long enough to let the aroma slip by. Curious Radha raised her eyebrows, “Appa got it yesterday from Bangalore- it’s called dark forest pastry. Amma told not to share but I will share with you in the break” whispered back Somya. Circumspect in the face of being caught by the teacher, both resumed looking at the blackboard. The bell rang and it was break time, Radha who would otherwise have been joyed by the prospect of Saheb’s daughter calling her a friend and sharing her favourite pastry, melted away as soon as they stepped out of the class. She was waiting for her akka near the water taps where they both would quietly devour the food that amma packed lovingly. Rukmani walked in prophesying Radha’s impatient wait. She was mildly disappointed by Radha’s muted expression on opening the dabba. Her reluctant mixing of chutney in the now luke-warm rice and conspicuous sadness made no sense to Rukmani. Radha quietly mixed the chutney and gulped it down, her impassiveness was palpable. No longer did the chutney taste good….

Scepticism to bonhomie

india_pak_flag295x200Last November I was in Munich, Germany. It was a bright day after a series of gloomy rainy days but by the time I completed my work, the day was almost finished. Since the flight was next day, I decided to utilize some idle time for going around the city-who knows when will be the next time I come here. So I took some directions from concierge at hotel who handed me a subway map, I reached the subway station a five minute walk from hotel and reached the city centre in 20 minutes. It was five already, I thought the best thing to do would be to take a walking tour.  The tour finished by 7, I was planning to collect some souvenirs, have food and leave for the hotel.

Just then I heard a voice asking me “Can you please take a photograph” without waiting for my reply the person handed his cellphone in my hand. It was a blackberry, without much thought I said yes. He was a well built, tall man in his mid thirties, black hair and a well kempt beard, I was nearly certain this guy is an Indian. I took his photograph and out of courtesy told him to check if the photograph was fine. It wasn’t, I took another one but the dark of evening didn’t help matters. I apologized, asked him if he had switched on the flash in his cellphone. He said yes and then stared briefly at the cellphone rolling it in his hand as if he was unsure of what to do next, he muttered to himself “pata nahi kya masla hai” (Don’t know what the problem is?) a knowing smile flashed across my face. He noticed my smile and asked me where I was from, “India” I said, he smiled back and said “main Pakistan se hun“(I am from Pakistan) It was similar sounding Amritsari accent that I so often hear my in-laws break into. Continue reading

Why do I miss Chennai?

Chennai..no Singara Chennai..I miss you!!social_security_taxation_and_healthcare_in_chennai

I arrived in Chennai with some skepticism and lots of sympathies from random people most of them had never set foot on Chennai soil but were quick to narrate me the tales of how unfriendly this city is.

I was in Chennai landing right in the midst of summer 2010 and I got the best welcome I could hope for, I was charged Rs 350 by auto guy for a distance that I later realized being in the city was worth not more than 50 rs!! Continue reading